


Mapping a Summer Storm

by KikiTwinTai2



Series: Love and Lightning [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Family Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22336261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KikiTwinTai2/pseuds/KikiTwinTai2
Summary: During a summer storm, Rome takes the chance to show Romano who he could be.
Series: Love and Lightning [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1607767
Kudos: 8





	Mapping a Summer Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Rome is too good a grandfather, even if Romano refuses to accept it. The 'two nations across the sea' are Greece and Egypt, since they are two of the few nations that have canon mothers, so I figure that if Ancient Greece and Ancient Egypt are their mothers, then Rome is their father.

A summer storm had rolled in, taking the oppressive heat and melding it into a cacophony of sound. Warm wind whipped through the orchards, tearing the new growth of olives from their branches and sending them tumbling across the dry, bleached grass. The sky was a dark and heavy grey, pressing down and contrasting fiercely against the wheat-yellow of the fields.

Through the sound, a young child lay in their cradle. They had been sleeping peacefully through the afternoon, but the sound of the wind picking up and the increasing heat had woken them some time ago, and their fitful wails now grew in volume until they could be heard even above the sound of the storm.

Hands reached into the cradle and drew the baby up into strong arms.

“Hush now, Vene, grandfather’s here,” the man crooned. “It’s just a storm. Ceres is angry at us, and she is taking our crops as punishment. Once she is calmed, Iris will send out rain and decorate the sky. We’ll go outside and give an offering as thanks and penance, and then the sun will come out again. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

The boy was far too young to understand the words, but the sound of his grandfather’s voice soothed him, and he soon settled down against the broad chest.

From behind him, another voice piped up.

“ _I’m_ not scared of the storm. Vene is just a stupid baby.”

Romulus turned around to the source of the voice, seeing his elder grandson standing with his arms crossed against his chest and a fierce expression.

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” he said. “You should be, though. This is only a summer storm. You haven’t seen a true storm, where Vulcan forges his thunderbolts for Jupiter to throw down at us. You should respect the gods, Romano. They are the reason we exist.”

_And soon, I will go to them_ , he thought. The child in his arms was proof of that, as well as his brother, and the two boys he had left behind, across the sea.

Romano pretended to look unimpressed, but the wind suddenly picked up and sent the wooden shutters rattling against the window, as if the gods had heard him. The boy jumped, looking around fearfully and casting a worried glance to the sky.

Romulus stood with Veneziano in his arms, unconsciously rocking him to keep the tiny nation asleep. Shifting him to one arm, he held the other out to Romano.

The boy resisted for a moment, but the shutters again rattled against the window, sounding as if they were moments from flying from their hinges. All thoughts of stubbornness flew away as the boy rushed towards his grandfather, small hands clinging into the fabric of his tunic.

“I’m sorry! Please don’t let the gods kill me!” he whimpered.

Romulus caught him around the waist and lifted him easily, chuckling. “Of course they aren’t going to kill you,” he said. “They are too busy fighting amongst themselves. We have been sent by them to represent the land and its’ people. If they were to kill us, the land would die. We are immortal, just as they are, and we have a duty to uphold.”

Romano pondered this new information. “Who am I, then?” he asked, finally. “The people call you Rome. Who am I?”

Romulus sighed. That was not a question he wanted to answer, not yet. Already, he could feel his strength begin to wane. Others, he knew, were beginning to suffer the same. His children, scattered throughout the lands, were the seeds of new beginnings, the changing thought and identity of the people growing and splitting into distinct forms and creating new nations for themselves. He had sown the seeds of his own destruction, and now he was paying the price for it.

The boys in his arms could never know that.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered.

Romano was, of course, unimpressed by that, his face screwing up into a pout. “How not? You have to know. You’re old, you must know.”

Romulus chuckled, giving the boy a warning glance.

“Who do you _feel_ you are?” he asked. “We are born as nations, to represent the people. Who are your people, Romano?”

Romano closed his eyes, as if that would help him to find the answer. His brows drew together as he thought, turning his small face into a picture of childish seriousness.

“Here.”

Romulus raised an eyebrow. “Here?”

Romano opened his eyes again. “Here,” he motioned, swinging a small arm around. “Really really big, but not everywhere. It stops here.” He held his arm above his head, making a cutting motion. “Then above that is _his_.”

He pointed to the baby in Romulus’ other arm, who was still sleeping peacefully.

“Well, that’s good, I suppose,” Romulus said thoughtfully.

Romano frowned. “What? What do you mean? Tell me!” he demanded, wriggling until Romulus set him down on the floor again.

Romulus walked over to the table in the room, where a map spread out across the wood.

“Do you see this map?” he said.

Romano stood on tiptoe to peer over the table. Romulus nudged a stool over to him, and the boy climbed on top of it, flattening his hands on the paper as he looked over it.

“This is our empire,” his grandfather explained. “Everything you see on this map is ours. We are the Roman Empire. _I_ am the Roman Empire. When I am gone, you will inherit this. Now tell me, what do you feel is yours?”

Romano looked over the map, his face serious. “You can’t die, because you just said we’re immortal,” he said. “But, I’m called Romano, so that means I’m _here_ ,’- he pointed to where Rome was printed in precise Latin script- ‘and Vene must be _here,”-_ he pointed north, to Venice.

“But, I can’t be just Rome, can I?” he said pleadingly, looking up at Romulus with worried eyes.

“No, Romano. You are still a child. It will take you many, many years to find out who you are. It took me centuries. The world is young, and it will last forever, so there is no rush to find out who you are. The humans decide their borders for themselves. No doubt who you are will change many times before you settle, if you ever do.”

“Oh. Alright then.” Satisfied, the boy stepped down from the stool. Cocking his head to one side, he listened for a moment.

“Hey, the wind has stopped!” he cried.

Despite Romulus’ warning cry, he ran over to the window, struggling for a moment before throwing open the shutters.

Sunlight streamed through the opening, casting him in rich shadow and making him shield his face with his hand.

“So it has,” Romulus said. Walking over to stand beside him, he placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Against his chest, Veneziano stirred, feeling the sun against his face. He woke up with a yawn, stretching out and batting Romulus’ face with a tiny fist.

The man chuckled, shifting him in his arms to look out across the fields.

“See? The storm will always stop. Let’s go down to the market and give thanks to the Gods.”

“Can we buy honey cakes?” Romano asked cheekily.

Romulus rolled his eyes fondly. “Yes, we can buy honey cakes.”

The boy nation grinned. All fear of the storm was forgotten. There would be many more to come in his immortal life, and all of them would pass, just as this one had.


End file.
